Everything in Between

by Hubbard, Crystal

  CJ, his thumbs constantly working his video game controller, never looked away from the wide-screen television. “I thought you were asleep, so I made my own.”

  Zae sat on the arm of the long, deep leather sofa. CJ would be thirteen in a few short months, yet he still favored footie pajamas. The set he now wore had a garish camouflage pattern.

  “What do you think?” Zae asked softly.

  “About what?”

  “Me and Chip.”

  CJ shrugged. “Chip is cool. He teaches me lots of stuff.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “He taught me how to do a spinning ax kick when I first started karate, and how to do that magic trick with the quarter and the ballpoint pen. He taught me that sentence to remember the planets,” CJ said.

  “ ‘My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants,’ ” Zae muttered. A ten-year-old girl crafted that mnemonic device to remember the eleven known planets and dwarf planets in the earth’s solar system. Chip had been so impressed by the youngster’s effort, he’d discussed the sentence with anyone who’d listen. I should have known then that he wanted to be a teacher, Zae mused.

  “He showed me how to put a lobster to sleep,” CJ continued. “Remember our Labor Day party, from when I was really little, and Chip took the lobsters and stood ’em on their claws after he put them to sleep? That was so cool. I tried to do it with the crayfish at school before we dissected them, but my teacher said we had to put them to sleep another way. Chip taught me righty tighty, left loosey, too, when he and Gian were building our deck. He knows so much stuff.”

  “I’m glad you like Chip.”

  “Is he your boyfriend now?”

  Zae hesitated. “Would that be all right with you?”

  “Sure,” CJ stated matter-of-factly. “I like the way you are when he’s around.”

  “What, I’m a big ol’ bitch the rest of the time?”

  CJ set aside his game controller and placed the near-empty cereal bowl on the table before him. He turned to face her. “Mama, he makes you sing. That’s what I like the best about him.”

  Zae captured CJ in a hug. His efforts to pull away dragged Zae over the arm of the sofa. She hugged him, kissing his cheeks until he laughed and hugged her in return.

  * * *

  Zae hung their coats on the stand at the corner of their booth. CJ scooted in first, grabbing the box of thick, broken crayons in the center of the table. He immediately began drawing on the brown paper covering the oval table.

  “You guys come here often?” Chip asked. This was his first visit to Sauce, a storefront restaurant on the border between University City and Clayton. Its location made it an ideal after-hours spot for college students, night clubbers and the theater crowd. A comic book motif dominated the décor with Marvel heroes occupying positions more prominent than those with D.C. origins. Huge posters of comic book heroes and villains hung from the walls. CJ had chosen an empty booth watched over by Wolverine, Storm, Cyclops and Jean Grey from the X-Men.

  “At least once a month.” Zae smiled softly. “We’ve been coming here for the past year or so.”

  “We usually come on Sunday around three,” CJ said, his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth as he drew bulging biceps on a superhero of his creation. “Mom stays up all night grading papers and I have my all-nighters.”

  Chip’s eyebrows drew closer in confusion.

  “It’s an Xbox thing,” Zae explained. “Him and his little friends.”

  “There’s grown-ups, too,” CJ volunteered. “One of my online friends lives in California. He’s a software designer.”

  “Sounds like he needs to get a grown-up life,” Zae remarked. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you spending all night playing games with adults who like to spend hours on end with children.”

  “Age doesn’t matter,” CJ said. “All that matters is that you’re good.”

  “Kid’s got a point.” Chip grinned.

  Shut up, Zae mouthed.

  Chip watched her shift the dolman sleeves of her white sweater. Above the thick cowl-neck, Zae had pulled her hair into a tight knot secured by two wooden stick pins. Her heavy black glasses propped on her nose, she sat beside CJ and crossed her legs to scan the menu, which had been printed to look like a comic book.

  The table was too low to accommodate Zae’s crossed legs, so she sat askance, with her feet aimed toward the dining room. Chip’s gaze kept straying to her legs and the black suede slouch boots that gave them sensuously pleasing length.

  “See something you like, soldier?” Zae grinned into her menu.

  “Indeed I do, professor,” he answered. “I don’t suppose we could get this order to go?”

  “We just got here,” CJ protested.

  “Chip is just being silly, honey,” Zae told him. “He wants dessert before breakfast, is all.”

  Chip laughed. Zae’s assessment hadn’t been too far from wrong. Contentment welled within him, and he inhaled it deeply. His evening with Zae left him tired yet restless. He ordered the heartiest breakfast he’d had in ages—bacon, ham, hash browns, scrambled eggs, grits, waffles, sliced melon—and set upon it like an animal once it had been set before him. He had eagerly accepted her invitation to a wee-hours breakfast for two reasons: he’d been happy to be included in the monthly ritual Zae and CJ shared, and he hadn’t wanted to go home and sleep for fear of waking to find that his night had been nothing more than a dream.

  Reality intruded all the same at the sound of a familiar voice beyond his right shoulder.

  “Pleasure to see you, Professor Richardson. Mr. Kish.”

  Chip half turned in his seat to see Elton Dye stagger up to the booth, a few of his usual companions in his company.

  “Wish I could say the same,” Zae replied. “You don’t look well, Mr. Dye.”

  Elton placed his hands on the table and leaned on them. Chip abruptly drew away from the pungent stench of fresh vomit emanating from Elton. His voice low and seductive, Elton said, “You look fine, Professor Richardson, as always. That blue dress you wore Friday was amazing.” He turned to his friends as if seeking corroboration. Increasingly uncomfortable, the most sober among them backed away, the others shifting from foot to foot. “Did you guys see her? She was in this blue dress that covered her from neck to ankle, but all her best parts just popped!”

  “Don’t talk about my mom like that!” CJ squawked. He stood, his crayons scattered before him, his hands clenched into tight fists.

  “Why don’t you get a table and get on with your meal?” Chip suggested, holding Elton’s red-eyed gaze. He settled CJ with a subtle hand gesture.

  “Or better yet,” Zae interjected, “go back to campus and take a shower. You smell bad, Mr. Dye.”

  Elton suddenly leaned farther forward, positioning his face in Zae’s. She drew back as he said, “You smell good, professor. You smell as good as you look. I could eat you right—”

  Chip stood, and Elton shied away. “That’s enough.” Chip nearly whispered, yet his words seemed to catch the attention of every diner at the neighboring tables. “Back off before I decide to move you myself.”

  Elton moved clear of Chip’s reach before saying, “We ain’t on campus now, karate man. I can say and do whatever I want. I know about you anyway. You’re a champion karate master. You touch me, you go to jail.”

  He stepped around Chip to face Zae. “You know, I knew there was something going on between you and him. This big dumb mook couldn’t keep his dirty thoughts to himself. I know what’s that’s like, bro.” Elton snickered. “Every time I see Eve Richardson, I have to rub one out. Your daughter is scrumdillyicious, Professor. Dawn inherited your bitchy streak but Eve…she’s as sweet as cherry pie.”

  Chip grabbed hold of the coat tree’s trunk to stop himself from shattering Elton’s nose. Elton loudly sniffed over Chip’s plate. “Waffles, huh? If I were you, I’d be at home eating a nice, luscious taco. But maybe you’ve already done that.
”

  Zae shot from her seat. She caught Chip’s arm, sparing the obnoxious young man a visit to an emergency room. “Mr. Dye, let me remind you, as you pointed out, we aren’t on campus. No matter where we are, you don’t have the right to speak to me as you have. Leave now, and don’t ever approach me outside of class again, or I’ll have an order of protection so vast slapped on you so quickly, you won’t have time to wonder why you aren’t allowed within five hundred yards of Missouri University.”

  Elton’s toothy grin vanished. Suddenly sober, he blanched. “You can’t do that.”

  Zae’s sweet smile matched her tone. “Do you think you’re the first post-adolescent pipsqueak to try to offend me? Rookie. I’ve had students banned from campus before, and I have no problem doing it again. Go back to your frat house and take a shower. As I mentioned earlier, you stink.”

  Elton’s friends took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the exit, Elton grumbling under his breath all the while. He crashed into the Grey Gargoyle umbrella stand at the door, shouting profanities as he tripped out the door.

  A nervous laugh returned Chip’s attention to his booth, where CJ clutched his stomach in merriment. “What a doofus! Oh, my God, that guy thought he was so tough!”

  “Bravery from a bottle,” Chip grunted.

  “I hate that kid,” Zae said, resuming her seat. “I really, really hate him.”

  “Braeden’s been working out hard as he can at the dojo,” Chip said. He pushed his plate forward, no longer hungry. “Elton has been giving him a hard time.”

  Zae quirked an eyebrow. “How so?” She took a slice of Chip’s bacon, swirled it in a pool of maple syrup, then ate half of it in one bite.

  “Braeden’s been working on a project to enter in the science competition in February. It’s got to do with using radio waves to detect explosive devices. Elton tampered with it, and Braeden had to redo a lot of his research. Dye’s father is some bigwig at Bryson Chemical. You’d think he’d know better than to mess with someone else’s concoctions of chemicals and flammable materials.”

  “I’ll speak with Dean Sheppard about Mr. Dye Monday morning,” Zae said. “Braeden’s a weird kid, but he’s a good kid. I don’t like him being picked on.”

  Chip chuckled. “Have you seen him do that thing with his ears?”

  “Where he runs his finger behind them and then sniffs it?” Zae laughed out loud. “Yes! He does that in class when he gets into a good discussion.”

  “He sounds like he’s crazy,” CJ offered.

  “Crazy brilliant,” Chip said. “Can I try that?” He picked up his fork and aimed it at a thick slice of CJ’s French toast.

  “Sure.” CJ pushed his plate a little closer to Chip. “It tastes good with the strawberries and powdered sugar on it.”

  Zae, her left hand curled loosely under her chin, watched the men in her life play tug-of-war with CJ’s last slice of French toast. Her sweater was as warm and comfy as an old quilt, but nothing warmed her quite like sharing good food with two of the people she loved most in the world. Chip had been a part of CJ’s life since the boy was in kindergarten. Dawn had questioned Chip’s ability to parent an African-American boy. Zae was of the belief that love was the most important qualification anyone needed to parent, but watching Chip and CJ, she was convinced Chip was an excellent role model for CJ. Her son had already spent most of his life under Chip’s influence, and Zae was certain that if ever called upon to do so, Chip would care for CJ as if he were his own. Just as he always had.

  * * *

  Zae’s heels tapped a staccato rhythm of urgency as she headed for her car. Her Monday had been long—a full day of classes along with student-teacher conferences to discuss mid-term grades. Her last conference had run longer than the twenty minutes she’d allotted for it, but that had been her own fault for scheduling Amanda Bradley last. The daughter of two high-powered attorneys, Amanda believed that she could negotiate her way into better grades than she deserved. And rightly so, given the easy acquiescence she received from some of her other instructors, most of whom gave her a half grade better just to make her quit pestering them.

  Amanda had met more than her match in Professor Azalea Richardson, who eventually wore down the freshman with a presentation of her own—all of Amanda’s quizzes and exams, which totaled no more than a solid B average.

  As invigorating as wrangling with Amanda was, Zae was more interested in getting to her karate class on time. Nothing worked out the kinks created by the day better than kicking and punching the crap out of someone, even if it was only in an instructional setting. She hoped Trent Cavendish would be willing to spar with her. He was especially fun to punch and throw. As Zae neared her car in the nearly empty parking lot, she had to fight the growing urge to kick the crap out of someone for real.

  She smelled the substance drying on her car before she was close enough to identify it. The vomit had dried virtually clear on the deep green finish of her Volvo. The pranksters had beefed up the waste with corn, sweet peas, fruit cocktail and a host of other food products that had adhered to the roof and windows and splattered the ground at the driver’s door.

  With early dusk painting the sky in broad strokes of purple and dark pink, Zae pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911. Then she called the campus police. And because she believed misery shared is misery diminished, she called Dean Sheppard, knowing that he’d gone home early on this chilly night and was probably at home with his wife enjoying dinner. Her last call was a message to Chip, who was surely already on the mat and wondering where his star pupil was.

  * * *

  Elton Dye ran his fingers through the long blond hair that kept flopping into his eyes. So many times in class, Zae had wanted to march up to him with a pair of scissors and chop off that thick wave of gold, which, for some reason, Elton allowed to grow long while the back and sides of his hair were shorn close to his scalp. It was a peculiar hairstyle for a peculiar boy. A boy Zae might have been willing to let off the hook for his antics at Sauce, had he not sat across the table from her in the dean’s conference room and lied to her face.

  “Are we to understand that you and your frat brothers here had nothing to do with the incident involving Prof. Richardson’s car last night?” Dean Sheppard asked, scowling.

  “That’s right, sir.” Elton grinned. “I was studying all night. A dozen of my brothers will swear to that.”

  “More’s the pity for your fraternity,” the dean muttered in frustration. He turned the meeting over to Zae, who looked far more bright-eyed and eager than she should have at eight in the morning.

  “Mr. Dye,” Zae began, “the St. Louis Police Crime Scenes Unit took samples of the regurgitation on my car. They’ll be analyzed, specifically to collect DNA.”

  “Unless every murder in the city has been solved, I can’t believe St. Louis CSU will put a rush on your car samples,” Elton said, smirking.

  “Oh, it’ll take a few weeks, if not months, for the crime lab to get the results of their analysis to me. But the biology lab here at MU took samples, too. I have those results right here.”

  The two young men to Elton’s left shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The accomplice to Elton’s right swallowed hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the room.

  “I-I don’t see what the MU biology lab can tell you about the people who trashed Prof. Richardson’s car,” Elton said.

  “It’s basic Bio 101.” Zae smiled proudly. “Their results are rudimentary, for sure, but quite impressive in that I’m sure they’ll corroborate what the St. Louis CSU will find.”

  “If there’s anything you want to tell us, now is the time,” Dean Sheppard warned.

  Elton put a warning hand on the wrist of the boy to his right, the one who opened his mouth to speak. “Look,” Elton stated, his words coming in a nervous rush, “this is ridiculous! You need DNA to match those samples to, and the last time I checked, you can’t make us give you DNA without a court order.” He sat bac
k in his seat with a satisfied sneer.

  Zae picked up the slight stack of papers before her. The boys’ gazes tracked her movements as she lined the papers up before her. “Gentlemen,” she began, “you give me samples of your DNA every time you turn in a paper in my class. These are your midterm essays. Every time you swiped your forehead or touched your nose, then touched your paper, you applied your epithelial cells to it. I gave these papers to Dr. Kirby in the Bio Lab last night, and he quite capably extracted DNA samples from each of them.”

  “Professor Richardson,” one of the boys started, “we didn’t know what Elton was gonna do with—”

  “Our DNA is on everything in your class!” Elton nearly shouted over his friend. “A stack of papers is like a DNA soup!”

  “You think like a criminal, Mr. Dye,” Zae observed calmly. “I hate to disabuse you of your ‘DNA soup’ hypothesis, but you should know that the DNA was taken from right here.” She picked up Elton’s paper and pointed to the upper left corner, where a staple had been removed. “The odds of someone else’s DNA getting under the staple that used to be there are close to astronomical.”

  “I think I want a lawyer,” moaned one of the boys.

  “You’re not under arrest, young man,” Dean Sheppard reminded him. “Although how long that remains true is up to Prof. Richardson. She’s well within her rights to press charges for what you boys did to her vehicle. And if that happens, your futures at Missouri University will be in serious doubt. Felony convictions, especially for crimes committed against faculty or students, are not tolerated. The safety and well-being of our community comes before anything else.”

  “Even huge alumni donations?” Elton’s voice shook in anger, fear, or both. “My grandfather and my dad have given a fortune to this school! It all dries up the second you piss us off!”

  “Is that a threat or a confession, Mr. Dye?” the dean asked angrily. “Don’t you dare presume that alumni giving buys you free rein to terrorize my campus! This is your last chance, boys. Now would be a good time for a heartfelt confession.”